Selfhatred
by Leighton Darko
Summary: doyle/zak ; Sometimes, Doyle hates himself so much. But Zak loves him. And he loves Zak.


So I started this at like 3am this morning and finished at 5am in a mildly unstable mental state. I don't know if that accounts for how scatterbrained this is. This more or less started as me musing in Doyle's head on maybe what he would think, but turned into something a bit more, because -- again -- lack of mental stability in the wee morning hours. No, seriously, I was not right in the head when I wrote this, so if something makes absolutely no sense, I'm really sorry. I hate long author's notes, but I'd like to point this out: I love Doyle/Zak like no other. I have since the Ellef Ringnes episode. I don't _care_ that they were further revealed to be uncle/nephew. There are a lot worse things you can write about -- murder, suicide, adultery -- people do it and don't get shit for it, so I don't see why this should be any different. That being said, if you don't like the pairing, fine, but if you're going to hate on this, do it because of the writing, not the pairing. I've _never_ had to justify my reasons behind a pairing, but I figured I'd point that out -- despite being a Secret Saturdays fan since before it began, I've not forayed into the fandom until very recently.

**Title** Self-hatred  
**Summary** doyle/zak ; Sometimes, Doyle hates himself so much. But Zak loves him. And he loves Zak.  
**Rating **G? PG? I don't know.  
**Warning(s)** The pairing. That's about it. And a cutesy kiss. Whatever.  
**Disclaimer** I don't own them, I just write sick fucked-up stuff about them.

**:-:-:-:-:**

There are times when Doyle hates himself. He really sort of does. It's not so much that he hates himself as a person as what he lets himself think and do -- like kiss Zak. Because there is seriously something wrong with a fully grown man being enamoured with an eleven-year-old boy -- a boy that's his freaking nephew, no less. His sister's son, and he's stealing kisses from him before he's even hit puberty -- the idea makes his skin crawl, but he can't help it; maybe there's something sickeningly wrong with him that he can let himself do this.

He can't help it: that's a lie. There's so much he could help in the situation. He could have stopped it from happening, but in a way, it's not a lie; he could have, but in a way, couldn't have. Zak makes him happy, but that doesn't matter -- 'cause for whatever reason, he makes Zak happy, and that's what matters. So even if he could have stopped it from happening, he couldn't have, because as long as it makes Zak happy, then nothing else matters.

(Doyle doesn't know when this started. Before all this, what mattered was earning money as Van Rook's apprentice to stay alive. And now what matters most is not his safety, not his happiness, nothing but Zak; keeping Zak safe, keeping Zak happy. Not many things scare Doyle, but frankly, the feelings he has for his nephew terrify him more than anything else ever has.)

So it's okay for now. So long as Zak's happy. Doyle's just afraid that some day, the mini-man's going to grow up and realize that love doesn't usually happen between a boy and his uncle. But so long as Zak is happy, he'll be happy, no matter what that entails in the future.

But he's got his limits.

Doyle grunts as he steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed after a shower, mildly disgusted with himself. He might... _love_ Zak, but he's got his limits, he's still got some values intact. He won't let Zak get corrupted more than this already is. So long as everything's above the belt, he can sleep easy at night -- especially if Zak's at his side _shut up Doyle shut up_ -- he doesn't mind beating off in the shower if it keeps Zak away from it, but every time he does, Doyle reminds himself over and over every little bit of what's so wrong with this: he's eleven, more than half his age, his sister's son.

Sometimes, Doyle hates himself so much. But Zak loves him. And he loves Zak. And they have the airship to themselves.

"Doyle!" Zak's tiny hand slips into Doyle's, his fingers warm; Doyle looks down, seeing the kid with an enormous oblivious smile plastered on his face, and as much as Doyle dislikes using the word, it's probably one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. Zak can't comprehend why this is so wrong -- but Doyle can -- and either way, neither of them care enough to try and stop. "Let's go."

He's pulling him in the vague direction of -- somewhere -- Doyle blinks, still lost in a hazy mire of his own thoughts. "What?"

"Don't tell me you forgot..." Why he makes Zak so happy, Doyle has no idea -- Zak rolls his eyes but still smiles at him as he drags him along to the kitchen where there's some ungodly monstrosity being boiled in a pot on the stove and -- _oh._ Right. "Oh." Zak's hand slips out of Doyle's as he sheepishly eyes his attempt at cooking. "Well, I -- I started it while you were showering so it would be done -- I guess that wasn't such a good idea..."

"It looks like a brain," Doyle points out, face heating up as his mind briefly registers Zak's mention of his shower -- he is beyond horrible. Doyle uneasily slides his hands into his pockets, watching Zak's face carefully as he attempts to salvage his pasta with mild indignation. "Don't worry, mini-man, I'll order us something."

"But I was..." Zak sighs, going ahead to clean up his mess. "Sorry, Doyle, I---"

"Don't be sorry. Chinese okay?" Doyle doesn't want to hear it. He knows what Zak was trying to convey -- Doc and Drew gone for a romantic excursion, their son trying to emulate something of the sort for his uncle. As sweet as the gesture is, as unbelievably happy as it makes him, he's just not sure if he can handle himself if he got to thinking about it. Zak's finished cleaning up, his hand fishing Doyle's free one from his pocket and threading their fingers together as dinner is ordered. When he's off the phone, Doyle can't help it -- he glances down at Zak, who's already smiling again, and when the smile catches to Doyle's face, he leans down and kisses him.

It's nothing short of sweet and chaste. Zak presses his lips against Doyle's a second time before the older man can draw away completely, and it's comfortable -- for right now, they can just be Doyle and Zak, unseparated by boundaries of age or gender or relation. And that's good. That makes Zak happy -- so Doyle's even happier, able to put his mind at ease and quit worrying so much over how wrong everything is about this. 'Cause if he could not think of himself as the epitome of the disgusting end of the human gene pool for once -- that would be wonderful. Zak's hand squeezes his tighter for a brief second after the delivery man arrives and Doyle has to untangle himself to pick up the food.

Chinese food is nothing special. Doyle's probably had more of it than anyone else he knows. But being with Zak, ludicrously happy over things he shouldn't be, that makes it special -- even if Doyle has to comb pieces of flicked rice out of his hair and Zak splashes him with soy sauce just to be able to clean it off. The crappy movie on tv isn't special, but with Zak by his side, anything could be. He's keeping the little man up past the bedtime his parents left, but Zak had told him specifically that he'd wanted to do this, so Doyle sort of just pretends he forgot as they climb to the roof of the airship and watch the stars. There is nothing special in this menial activity, but Zak's curled up next to him, and Doyle feels like less of a monster than he has in a long time.

There's something wrong here. There's so much wrong here, but for the first time in a while, Doyle doesn't care. He's happy, Zak's happy, and for now, that's all that matters.


End file.
